The Ronin
by RustedThunder
Summary: The Chosen Undead is tired of the cycle he is set in. The constantly repeating journey, the innumerable deaths he had to endure. He has slain Gwyn again. Upon kindling the First Flame he instead pulls the sword from the Bonfire. Sending him to a new land.


The Undead felt their body be encompassed by ash and cinder. This cycle started again. He, He had done this before. Many a time he had slain Gwyn, The Lord of Cinder and rekindled the First Flame. The first time he had been shocked, he had felt like he had been betrayed by Frampt, tricked into trying to revive a dead kingdom. The Undead still remembered the feel of the flames writhing over him. The excruciating pain turning to numbness. His awakening back in his cell within the Undead Asylum confused him. It was like all his work was undone. But that? That was centuries ago. His hand tightened around his broadsword. The other around the blade within the bonfire. With a roar the Undead pulled the blade from its place, and was consumed by ash and cinder.

* * *

When the Undead woke, what met their eyes was a seldom seen sight of a bright sky above and grass under him. Which was rather remarkable because the depressing cell of the Asylum had neither of the two things, nor the sound of a nearby river. The Undead sat up with a jolt to stare at his surroundings, causing the cloth hood he wore to fall, exposing his unhollowed visage. A calm forest surrounded him, and unlike every other forest he had been in, this forest didn't immediately feel like something was going to try and kill him. His gaze wandered to the warped blade held in his left hand.

"That worked?"

A spike of surprise ran through the Undead, surprise that quickly dissipated once the fact that the Undead was in a safe location was realised. Seizing the moment the Undead returned the Broadsword to the bottomless box, allowing the Undead to inspect his new item.

"How do you work?"

The Undead traced the coils of the blade with their eyes.

"Suppose I'd need some bones then. Maybe a woman to act as firekeeper."

The sound of a body impacting the ground nary ten metres away caused him to stand, quickly placing the Bonfire Sword into the bottomless box and pulling out the first blade his hand contacted, an Iaito.

The body was sprawled out and appeared to be bleeding. They wore a curious outfit to the Undead, and that was saying something with the fashions worn in Anor Londo. It looked like it was plate armour fashioned out of wood and coloured green

After the Undead had fastened the Iaito's Scabbard to his belt and returned his gaze to the as yet to move body. He called to the figure.

"Are you hollowed?"

The body stayed still, unmoving.

"Can I use your bones?"

The Undead was met with continued silence. The Undead took a single step towards the body when a blade buried itself into his head, dropping him back to the ground.

Light footsteps filled the clearing as another person dropped in, immediately going to the bleeding body.

He could hear them conversing in tongue that sounded like it would fit in the Far East. The Undead reached up to feel the handle of the knife stuck within his head. With a tug he had pulled the blade out and had a good view of it. It was a throwing knife of curious design with a ring fashioned in the handle.

This information had seconds to process before the Undead realised a fact. The blade had been thrown at his head. The blade had been thrown at his head with intent to kill. The person who threw the blade at his head and was now tending to the body had tried to kill him. The person who had thrown the blade thought him dead. The soon-to-be corpse had thought that He wouldn't retaliate.

The Undead stood, Peculiar Knife in hand. He felt its weight, He flipped the knife and caught it by the blade. With a flick, carried over from the thousands of throwing knives he had used before, and nary a second spent travelling through the ten metres that divided them. With a scream of pain the blade was buried in the shoulder of the man who had buried it in his head.

Both dying men had turned their attention to him. They were yelling something but the Undead didn't care. He stalked towards them, slowly drawing his Iaito and with a voice perfected over centuries to give even Gwyn himself pause, stated with dread intent to the man who had tried to kill him;

"**_I'm going to take your bones_**."

The two didn't seem to understand his words, but they seemed to understand his intent. As the Undead crossed a metre, the man who the Undead had returned the knife threw another. The Undead felt it pierce his Black Leather Armour. Burying itself where his heart would be were he still properly human. He stopped for a second to glance down at the blade before turning his attention back to the terrified men. Another three were thrown but the Undead did not let these knives break his stride like the first one.

In desperation a weapon shaped like a star was thrown by the downed man, piercing the Undead through his left eye. The Undead paused in his step, letting his head be carried by the impact before refocusing on the two again. The one with a knife in their shoulder started crawling backwards while the other writhed in a panic.

Calls of 'Akuma!' and 'Sōdodebiru!' came from the two. The Undead ignored their words, grabbing the second enemy by the throat the Undead held them against one of the trees surrounding them.

"...Anata wa shinubekidatta..."

The Undead sneered at the man. Rearing his head back the Undead drove their heads together. Transferring the pointed star from his head to the corpses', killing them.

The Undead felt the rush of souls from the body, though this time it felt...odd. The rush felt the same but the quality, the nature of it felt different. The familiar white sprite appeared over the corpse. The Undead released the neck of the body, letting it fall to catch the sprite.

_Soul of Kōka _danced through the Undead's mind. He observed it. The unexplainable knowledge filled his head. To use the Soul and gain knowledge. He could feel the eyes of the other man on his back, looking at the sprite. He crushed the soul in his hand and knowledge and memories filled his head. The first time this happened he had been unprepared and almost knocked unconscious. Over centuries he was used to the effect. This time the most important thing he had gained from the soul was language. And the name of the bleeding man.

"Have you accepted death Batafurai Hagoromo?"

A knife pierced his back, severing his spine yet the Undead still stood.

"Be grateful, Batafurai. Instead of taking your bones, I'll dump you in the river." The Undead glanced back, seeing the still outstretched arm of the...Shinobi. The new word made the Undead smile.

"W-what are you?" A violent cough followed the sentence.

The Undead turned to Batafurai. "I've been many things over the years. A Warrior, a Wanderer, a Hunter, a Pyromancer, a Sorcerer, Knight, Cleric, Thief Bandit." The Undead crouched next to the shinobi. "Truly though I am a man Deprived. Deprived of a name, deprived of a fate. Thou art lucky, Batafurai Hagoromo, thou have a name, and thy fate is to die and be thrown in a river." The Undead grabbed the chin of Batafurai, turning his head so they could focus on the Undead. "I hath neither. So thou art lucky." The Undead paused in thought. "Wouldst thou hath something I could take as mine name?"

The Shinobi spat into the Undeads face. "Go die, Demon"

"Demon. Thank you Batafurai Hagoromo. I'll take it into consideration." The Undead placed their Iaito against his throat and jerked it upwards, slitting it and finally letting the shinobi die.

The Undead stood and returned the Iaito to it's scabbard. The Undead looked down and began removing the peculiar knives...Kunai from his body and depositing them alongside the rest of his throwing knives in the bottomless box. The Undead turned his gaze to the corpse and the soul floating above it. He reached out and grabbed it, crushing it and absorbing the knowledge of the corpse.

Knowledge and history filled his mind. Wherever the Undead was, it was nowhere near Lordran. The Undead gave a wry smile. How appropriate for the one tasked with linking the flame, sent to die a thousand times and a thousand more to prolong the Age of Dark's arrival to end up in the Land of Fire. Though he had escaped the Kiln. The Undead would never escape the flames.

The Undead turned their attention back to the corpses. His sight focused on the body of Kōka and the...shuriken still left embedded in his skull. The Undead approached the body, roughly grabbing the skull in one hand while the other hand pulled the star weapon from the eye of the corpse. Another sneer crossed the face of the Chosen Undead. He had never taken kindly to those who attacked him at first sight. Priscilla had taught him that, to give everyone a chance to speak, to show their intentions.

Neither of them had to die, he could have found an animal to take the bones he needed. But he had condemned them. And so two unneeded deaths had happened. Their memories told the Undead, the curse of Undeath had never tainted this land. None knew of the Darksign. They were still human. And he, an Undead, had killed them. The Undead slumped to his knees. Taking off the Brigand Gauntlet on his left hand to expose his palm and the Darksign upon it.

"Thou hath never experienced the curse..."

They had attacked him out of self preservation and he had killed them in self preservation.

"A promise is a promise."

The Undead stood, pulling the gauntlet back on and picked up the body, slinging them over his shoulder. The Undead turned and grabbed the arm of the other body and started dragging it along behind him. The sounds of the running water became louder with every step of the Undead. Soon he came upon a wide river. The large volume of water being a seldom seen sight for the Chosen Undead, especially since usually a hydra would start attacking him soon after. Or he'd trip in his heavy armours upon the loose sands of the beaches and fall into the depths. And considering he technically didn't need to breath, therefore he couldn't drown, that meant he'd either go through the long process of trying to climb back out or get bored and stick a knife in his own throat so he could just reappear at the Bonfire.

Needless to say, large bodies of water were not the Undead's favourite locale.

"I promised you that I'd throw you into a river Batafurai." The Undead unceremoniously tossed the body he was dragging face down into the river. "There you go." The body floated to the current of the water. "Enjoy death!" He called to the floating corpse. "By the Gods I wish I could." The Undead turned his attention to the body across his shoulders. "Doth thee know of any caves I could use for the Bonfire?" The Undead trudged off upstream of the river. "No answer needed, I've your thoughts and memories."

* * *

The Undead kept walking, passing none on his journey. Such was better. As The Undead did not know how he would react around those who had never been cursed. The thought alone gave him pangs of excitement, but ones of dread too. They would not know the troubles of an Undead. The want, the need of purpose. To have something to fight for. The Undead looked to the sky above and the Sun shining. With a wistful sigh the Undead gave voice.

"Just as you once sought, my friend. It seems I'll have to find my own Sun."

Soon though he found a cave, it was rather nice too. Not dank and murky yet still dark enough for the Undead's liking. The Chosen Undead threw the body to the floor of the cave. Reaching into the bottomless box and pulling out a dagger. The Undead sat down in the dirt of the cave and pulled the body closer. Setting about the task of parting flesh from bone, throwing the flesh into a corner of the cave and pilling the bones into the centre of the cave's floor. The Undead didn't know how long it took as Lordran didn't give a damn about time so why would he figure out how long an hour is, or what an hour is? He knew seconds, he knew minutes, but hours eluded him.

After forty minutes of work, or nineteen hours to the Undead's knowledge, the pile of what used to be a person was complete, a new suit of armour and some clothes were added to the bottomless box, and the mound of bones was crafted through carefully yet randomly throwing bones on top of each other. The Chosen Undead was happy with his work and pulled out the twisted sword of the Bonfire.

"I've not a clue how to go about this." The Undead mumbled to himself. He thought Bonfires needed Firekeepers, but only...three? Yes, three, Bonfires had visible Firekeepers. So unless the cruel bastards that made them locked some poor woman underground with her tongue cut out, like Anastacia, then not all Bonfires need Firekeepers. The Undead thrust the sword into the pile of bones, creating the image that he had seen so many times. He took a step back and held his left hand to the hilt. With an unneeded breath the Undead began a short prayer.

"Glorious Sun, hanging high. Thou art magnificent in thy splendour. Thine grace unmatched by even the Gods. I beg of thee to let thy incandescence shine through this simple sconce and grant me but a little of thy grandeur. Praise the Sun." Finishing the prayer the Undead felt his Darksign pulse and the Bonfire was lit. A brilliant smile danced across the Undead's face as they crouched infront of the Bonfire, offering three sprites of Humanity. His smile grew as the Bonfire's flame burned high. Matching his height now instead of the small flame and embers of an unkindled Bonfire.

The Undead lay against the wall of the cave, content with his actions of the day. He dipped his head between his arms and for the first time in a century he fell asleep.

* * *

I wanted to add more but I decided this is as good a stop as any.

I wanted to explain a few things about the story as Naruto Fanfic is divisive in how people write. I watched the English dub of the cartoon. (Don't correct me and say it's anime. That's just the Japanese word for cartoon. And I'm doing it to see just how annoyed some people get over the little things.) So the names are going to be set out personal name-surname. Also there won't be a lot of Japanese in the story because I suspect others are like myself and don't want to bring up Google translate every thirty words. If there is a word in English, I'll use it. Except Jutsu. I'm gonna use that (The word itself). I apologise if this explanation isn't the best. I hope you enjoyed the story so far.


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